


sorry, i was busy thinking about boys

by ebenroot



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Day At The Beach, M/M, Second-Hand Embarrassment, Skateboarding, but that yuuri skateboards and victor is a yoga instructor, not like in the this is a skateboarding au kinda way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-12
Updated: 2018-10-12
Packaged: 2019-07-29 20:27:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16271732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ebenroot/pseuds/ebenroot
Summary: the one where actual human wrecking ball yuuri katsuki keeps running over the hot guy at the beach with his skateboard





	sorry, i was busy thinking about boys

**Author's Note:**

> title taken from charli xcx's "boys"
> 
> not beta'd

Yuuri doesn't mean to start his summer vacation by firing his longboard into a crowd of people doing yoga on the beach, but that's exactly what he does.

There's screaming, lots of screaming. He’s never seen a group of women ranging in age from early twenties to late forties scramble on the sand like that, like they’re fleeing from a beached shark instead of a piece of wood with four wheels on it. Five seconds too late, Yuuri shouts, “Board!” It doesn’t help much.

There’s no casualties, but he does get a majority of the yoga group glaring hard at him as he scrambles to his feet from where he tripped and sent the board flying from up under him. His hands and knees are fine - covered with black guards - but the arms of his glasses stretch wider around his head than they are supposed to. Also, he thinks he cut his lip from where his face bashed into the cement moments prior. There’s a copper taste on his tongue every time it pokes out to run along the bottom of his mouth, accompanied with a burn that is more annoying than painful.

“Uh, I’m - I’m sorry,” he says, awkwardly tiptoeing around the abandoned yoga mats with tacky neon colors and ugly floral prints. His feet sink into the sand with each step as he tries to locate the runaway board, making it a point to hurry when he feels _everyone_ watching him and wondering when the fuck is he going to make his presence scarce.

Yuuri _does_ find his longboard. Just, not the way he envisioned he would.

There’s a guy up ahead - broad shouldered and fair skinned, wearing a stretched out tank top and a pair of hot pink cuffed yoga pants that hug his thighs _too well_. He’s picking Yuuri’s longboard out of a mound of sand, and when he turns to face Yuuri, he gives him a smile. It’s a Hollywood kind of smile, perfect straight row of white teeth and soft lips, dimpled cheeks and a shimmer of baby blue eyes that fuck Yuuri over in a myriad of ways.

“Is this yours?” he asks Yuuri. It’s a stupidly obvious question when there are zero skateboarders this side of Venice, and Yuuri is the only person _not_ in a pair of hot yoga pants. But, the guy’s voice eases sex and honey, and Yuuri thinks he can listen to the guy ask stupid questions with obvious answers all day long.

“Uh,” Yuuri answers, stiff in his spot, hands curling and uncurling in a weird and nervous grabby motion. The guy approaches Yuuri, slowly, the few long silverly strands of his hair not pulled into his loose man bun blowing across his face by an invisible wind. Yuuri’s mouth wells up with spit in a record time of under five seconds.

The guy hands Yuuri back his board, still smiling, little crinkles at the corners of his eyes to make him appear even _more_ endearing. “You okay? You took quite a stumble.”

“Uh,” Yuuri says again, because that’s the only noise he’s capable of making.

He looks down at his feet, the sand cascading over the tips of his worn out Vans, then at the guy’s bare feet and his toes curling close. He’s got a puka shell ankle bracelet. Yuuri disappointedly shakes his head at it. Absolute waste of money.

His shoulders hunch up to his ears as he holds his board to his chest. “Sorry for…I’ll just…leave you alone…forever…” Yuuri mumbles.

The guy has the audacity to pout. “That’s a shame,” he says. Yuuri doesn’t know what that’s supposed to mean, but it makes him feel like doing a kickflip off the rocks and into the deep blue sea.

He doesn’t give the guy a chance to say anything else, already feeling like he’s overstaying his welcome (not that he was wanted in the first place). Yuuri does his walk of shame back through the crowd of angry women, shaking the sand off of his shoes when he gets to the cement. He gives an awkward wave to the crowd, braces his right foot on the board, and then pushes off with his left.

He goes gliding, smooth and easy with the sea air ghosting over his face. In the faintness of it all, he hears the guy’s voice chirp, “Sorry about that, everyone! Let’s resume our class!”

After that, it’s only the sound of the ocean waves crashing onto shore.

 

* * *

 

 

“How hot was he? One to ten?”

“Eleven,” Yuuri says, then pauses. “No. Twenty. I have never seen a man bun look so attractive on a guy in my entire _life_.”

Phichit whistles low, mildly impressed. He’s fanning himself with a rubber fly swatter, perched on the glass countertop where the trucks and bearings are on display.

It’s slow in the skate shop. Mornings are _always_ slow in the skate shop. There’s not much to do to make the time go by quicker: the display cases are polished, the boards ready for pick up have their grip tape applied, the helmets are restocked, and the window displays have been set. Celestino is out running errands - which translates to ‘getting his laundry done and maybe picking up a quick snack at Ruby’s’ - so for the estimated time of thirty minutes, they’re their own boss.

“Have you seen the guy around lately?” Phichit asks. Yuuri shakes his head ‘no’, a disappointed frown on his lips as he marks down a deck thirty percent off retail price.

“It’s not like there’s many yoga places near the boardwalk,” Yuuri explains, but it’s not like he’s even sure what he would _do_ if he did came across the hot yoga guy with the unfairly gorgeous man bun. With Yuuri’s luck, maybe he’ll trip over a snail and send his board flying into the guy’s beautiful face.

“Seung-Gil was mentioning something about a yoga place at the outdoor mall. Lots of pretentious beginners like to stop at his smoothie shop and put in complex orders that all involve wheatgrass. He’s been extra bitchy about it,” Phichit laughs.

Yuuri wonders if Yoga Guy is the pretentious kind to place complex orders with wheatgrass. He doesn’t think so, but he guesses he’s the kind that get suckered into buying pretentious knick-knacks, and that’s kind of cute.

One or two customers come looking for some sliding gloves and knee pads for downhill boarding, and Phichit sells a helmet to a soccer mom with a four year old that keeps putting his sticky fingers all over the pintail decks. He’s only two hours into his shift, but Yuuri is already bored out of his mind.

Being bored out of your mind means that it wanders to other things, like how there’s a new joint that opened across the street from the local Starbucks five blocks away. Yuuri heard from Emil that they make a mean breakfast burrito that’s around the size of his forearm, loaded up with bell peppers, eggs, potatoes, bacon, and six types of shredded cheese all melted together.

Yuuri thinks he wouldn’t mind wasting his time eating such a thing.

“I’m going out,” he tells Phichit, grabbing one of the small stacks of flyers advertising the skate shop so no one can say he isn’t working. He’ll drop by the bike rental shack after he grabs his burrito. The Chads running the shop won’t mind taking the flyers off Yuuri’s hands if he asks to leave them on the counter.

(Phichit once joked that they’d probably take a flaming bag of shit with a smile if Yuuri was the one handing it to them, but Yuuri is eighty-five percent sure Phichit is just exaggerating.)

Yuuri grabs one of his favorite boards and throws it down, tucks the flyers under his arms - but not too high up in the spot where he’s starting to sweat - and pushes off to soar out the front door.

The summer heat is creeping up. The air is warmer, but not in a way that uncomfortably clings to Yuuri’s lungs as he breathes it in. It’s warm like an embrace, kissing at his skin and along the exposed parts of his body.

He carves through the crowd, rocking back and forth from his heels to his toes, maneuvering the board with such ease while the stack of flyers rustle in his grasp. A couple of pushes with his left foot and a quick turn to the right; his arms fan out like a bird’s wings about to take flight for only a second, before he’s balanced on the board and resumes to bob and weave with an increase in speed.

And it’s then, that somewhere in some heavenly cosmos, some being decides to make Katsuki Yuuri their personal plaything.

He doesn’t know what happens first, the front wheel of his board lodging into a crack in the cement Yuuri swears on his _life_ wasn’t there the manymany _many_ times he cruised this strip of concrete, or the Hot Yoga Guy with the Unfairly Gorgeous Man Bun - now styled in an Unfairly Gorgeous Ponytail - materializing out of nowhere with a box of crumb cakes and a hot chai tea latte.

Either way, Yuuri goes slamming face first right into him when he feels his board slip out from under his feet. He feels the burn of the chai tea on the front of his stomach before he feels the pain in his head, his arms, his _groin_. The flyers scatter everywhere, immediately getting picked up by the wind and flying in all directions.

Hot Yoga Guy takes more of the impact, landing on his back with Yuuri on top. Somehow, Yuuri managed in his dumb, disoriented fall to cradle the back of Hot Yoga Guy’s head so it didn’t go splat on the cement. Hot Yoga Guy has really soft hair. It threads through Yuuri’s fingers like silk.

Yuuri creepily wastes a second just reveling in how it feels when he pinches it between his thumb and forefinger, instead of acting like a normal person and getting off the guy he’s made a human cushion out of. He only comes to his senses when he hears the guy groan beneath him, guttural and in pain, his hands bracing to hold Yuuri up by his hips.

“You okay?” Hot Yoga Guy asks first _again_. Yuuri immediately feels like a jackass.

“I - I’m so sorry!” he blurts out, and he _finally_ removes himself from the warm and sturdy body of Hot Yoga Guy to help him to this feet.

He’s covered in squashed cinnamon crumb cake and chai foam, all over his chest like the emblem of a slovenly superhero. He’s also got a nasty cut on his forearm which, _god_. Yuuri winces just from looking at it.

Wordlessly, Yuuri paws at the guy’s arm for a closer look. The cut’s not too deep, but still looks like it burns something mean and painful. Hot Yoga Guy has a relatively good poker face, because he’s just staring at Yuuri, blinking owlishly at him while he smiles his Hollywood smile that makes Yuuri feel all warm and stupid.

“I - I got Band-Aids,” Yuuri offers, patting down the front and side pockets of his cargo shorts for the box he always keeps handy. When he withdraws them, he only then remembers the reason why he has a box of Band-Aids in the first place is for the little kids that hurt themselves trying out the boards.

There is no word to describe the awkward mortification Yuuri feels of handing a grown man - a _handsome_ grown man - a Ninja Turtles Band-Aid.

Hot Yoga Guy quietly inspects it, then he smiles.

“Donatello. My favorite,” he beams, holding out his arm towards Yuuri. Yuuri wants to die.

He helps apply the Band-Aid, amazed with himself for keeping a straight face and not managing to say anything else stupid while doing so. When he’s done, Hot Yoga Guy pulls his arm back to admire Yuuri’s handiwork, flexing his arm muscles in the process, which makes a hissing noise come from Yuuri’s clenched lips that sounds like a balloon deflating.

“We got to stop running into each other like this. Literally,” Hot Yoga Guy laughs. Yuuri laughs too, but he regrets it because the laugh is fake and forced and flat out _awkward_ , reminiscent of Vicchan mauling one of his squeaky toys.

Hot Yoga Guy doesn’t seem to be bothered by this, however. His blue eyes lower their gaze, and he reaches out to pinch at the bottom of Yuuri’s shirt. “Sorry about this. The stains will be a pain to get out,” he points out remorsefully. Yuuri looks down, smoothing the flat of his palm against where the liquid is spilled over his t-shirt. The spot is still wet, but now not as hot.

“O - Oh, it’s - it’s fine,” Yuuri says, shrugging, mechanically nodding his head up and down, “I’ll just - you know - wash and…I got…good stain remover…”

Hot Yoga Guy decides to be kind and put Yuuri out of his tangled word misery with a serene little smile. “That’s nice,” he says. Yuuri nods his head in agreement. Indeed, that is nice.

“Still,” Hot Yoga Guy continues, “I don’t want you going around for the rest of the day like that.”

He reaches behind him, into one of the side pockets of the little boho backpack he’s carrying, and withdraws a bundled piece of fabric that he hands to Yuuri. After a moment’s pause, Yuuri takes it and unfurls it to reveal a tank top. The phrase ‘ **LET’S GET DOWNWARDS DOG** ’ is in blocky white tex center, with a little graphic of a poodle performing the yoga pose.

It is both cute and horribly tacky.

Yuuri thinks he’s kinda in love.

“It’s one of my shirts that I usually change into if I start sweating too much while exercising,” Hot Yoga Guy offers. Then, he rushes to add, “That one’s clean, by the way.” Yuuri laughs again, because ha-ha-ha, he _so_ wasn’t about to covet a dirty, sweat-smelling shirt of a hot guy like some horny deprived teenager. Not at all. Nope.

“Um. Thank you,” Yuuri says. He gives a forlorn gaze at the other man’s own shirt with just as ugly of a stain, lips twisting into a disappointed frown. “Um, but…you…” he gestures to his chest area when words fail him.

Hot Yoga Guy laughs a pretty and vibrant laugh that makes Yuuri want to die and kiss him and die _while_ kissing him. Then, the guy drops his backpack to the ground and starts peeling off his shirt. The Earth stops rotating, time stops flowing, the planets all align as the stained cotton gets pulled up to reveal abs and creamy smooth skin, the other man’s torso a beautiful piece of hard and soft lines.

And maybe, Yuuri thinks he’s _already_ dead. Maybe he’s floating somewhere in a Nirvana and a Heaven combined, his eyes blessed to see such a holy sight.

Hot Yoga Guy gestures around them. “We’re at a beach,” he points out like Yuuri _isn’t_ aware, “it’s not like it’ll be out of the norm for me to go without a shirt.”

Yuuri gives another dumb nod of his head and another ‘squeaky toy’ laugh, his eyes flickering up and down between Hot Yoga Guy’s smile and Hot Yoga Guy’s six pack, hoping his eyes don’t creepily linger on the six pack for too long.

Hot Yoga Guy takes up his backpack and throws up a friendly peace sign with a heart-shaped smile. “I’ll see you around,” he says, and with that, continues his stroll down the sidewalk in the opposite direction Yuuri needs to go. Yuuri watches him leave, the yoga shirt tight in his grasp and a softly whispered ‘fuck’ on his lips.

 

 

 

 

“What are you even _wearing?_ ” Phichit asks when Yuuri returns to the skate shop with his dirty shirt in one hand, a breakfast burrito in the other, his skateboard with the broken nose-end he dug out of a gutter tucked under his arm, and a yoga shirt soft against his skin.

Yuuri tucks his chin inwards to his chest where he burns the hottest.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

 

* * *

 

 

Hot Yoga Guy has a name apparently: Victor.

Yuuri only knows this because over the last three consecutive days, there has been a total of five different housewives in hot yoga pants coming to Celestino to bitch about his 'negligent employer harming their dear Victor'.

"How did they even know where you work?" Phichit asks around the straw of his iced macchiato. He's perched on a cement wall covered in graffiti, watching as Yuuri shuvits back and forth.

"Maybe they got some deep, intuitive sense that can only be obtained with the power of yoga," Yuuri theorizes, flipping stance. "But we _are_ the first skate shop you hit east of the boardwalk. Celestino said they seemed the type ready to pick a fight with anybody, whether they were right or wrong."

"You only gave the guy a _scratch_. Is their 'dear Victor' _that_ delicate?" Phichit asks, astonished, draining the last remnants of his drink before he expertly tosses it into the waste receptacle behind him.

Yuuri shrugs. "Don't know. Not like I've held conversation with him outside of mowing him over every time we meet."

Phichit snorts.

There's a moment of quiet, where only the ambiance of the sea and seagull cries mix with the sound of Yuuri's wheels scraping against the cement as he rolls by.

Then, in all seriousness, Phichit squints his eyes at the yellow sun above and asks, "Do you think he can suck his own dick?"

 

* * *

 

 

The next time it happens, it isn’t really _Yuuri_ being uncoordinated on a skateboard. It moreso has to do with the fact that a giant brown poodle makes a flying leap onto Yuuri as he passes Victor packing up his yoga materials.

“Makkachin! No! Bad girl!” Victor snaps when Yuuri tumbles to the ground and Makkachin starts licking all over his face and his chin. Yuuri laughs, rubbing his hand along her curly fur and gently easing her off of him. She kinda reminds Yuuri of Vicchan, just bigger.

“Sorry!” Victor apologizes to Yuuri, running over to presumably collect his poodle. Yuuri staggers to his feet, wiping at his face with the back of his hand.

“N-No, it’s okay,” he stammers, and goes to grab his skateboard that rolled up against the curb after the collision. Yuuri tucks it under his arm and gives a glance over at Victor, who is now knelt down beside Makkachin and giving her back some affectionate rubs. Makkachin pants at him, tongue lolled out of the side of her mouth, before she turns her shiny black eyes back on Yuuri and gives a happy little bark.

Yuuri smiles at her. “You have a really cute dog,” he says.

Victor’s chuckle is appreciative. “Cute, but has very bad manners,” he chides.

Yuuri laughs a little at that, the sound coming naturally. “Uh, she kinda reminds of my dog. He’s a poodle like her, just smaller.”

Victor’s eyes quirk with intrigue, standing to his feet. “Oh?” he says, and suddenly he’s standing closer to Yuuri, all up in Yuuri’s personal bubble with a smile on his face and an intoxicating glimmer in his eyes that Yuuri thinks he can get drunk off of. “Do you have pictures?”

Of _course_ Yuuri does.

Yuuri reaches into his back pocket to withdraw his phone, all dinged up on the sides with a small crack in the screen protector in the top right corner. He opens up his photos app and scrolls to what he considers his ‘Vicchan’ album: a variety of pictures and videos involving Vicchan frolicking in the ocean water, chasing after the seagulls, rolling around in the sand and doing Cute Dog Things. Victor coos at them all.

“He’s a cute one,” Victor compliments, taking Yuuri’s phone to swipe through each one. “Like his owner.”

“Yeah,” Yuuri says with a smile.

There’s a beat.

“W-Wha - U - _Uh_. Er, I - um -“ Yuuri momentarily forgets how to ‘word’.

Victor starts to laugh, adjusting his grip on Makkachin’s leash. “Maybe you and I can take our dogs for a walk. That is, if you actually _walk_ places.”

Yuuri opens his mouth to sputter out something, _anything_. For the life of him, he can’t.

Victor hands Yuuri’s phone back with a smile. When Yuuri looks at the screen, he sees that the photo app is no longer open, but instead it’s open to a contact. Victor’s contact. With a prayer emoji, a sparkly heart and the blowing a kiss emoji capping the end of his name. _Fuck_.

“Give me a call some time and we can schedule it,” Victor says while Yuuri continues his impression of a dead fish on the boardwalk. Jingling Makkachin’s leash, Victor adds, “Makka likes making new friends.”

For two seconds, Yuuri looks from his phone to Victor and to his phone again.

“I - er - _uh_ -“ Yuuri tries to pocket the phone, but he somehow misses his pocket entirely and just drops it on the ground. He spends another two seconds trying to snatch it off the ground with a sweaty, trembling hand.

Hunching his shoulders up and turning his face towards the ground, Yuuri stammers out a hurried goodbye, and then fastwalks away as quickly as his feet will take him.

In the distance, Victor shouts out ‘goodbye!’

Yuuri trips over his own shoelace from the sound.

 

* * *

 

Phichit takes on a smug looking grin every time Yuuri’s phone buzzes with a notification from Victor. Which is almost every single hour every single day.

Victor likes to take pictures of everything: his breakfast, the interior of his apartment, Makkachin, and random snapshots of the boardwalk that Yuuri’s seen countless times, but just looks a little bit more special when viewed through Victor’s lens. Victor takes a lot of pictures of the ocean line; the shots of where the sunrise reflects itself off the waters are the ones Yuuri likes the most.

“But,” Phichit inquires every. fucking. _day_ , “can he suck his own dick?”

“I’m not asking him that!” Yuuri blurts, nearly dropping his phone in the process.

“Come on! You’re not in the least bit curious at how flexible he is?”

Yuuri doesn’t consider himself a damn, dirty liar, but he becomes one when he gives a disgruntled “ _No_ ” as his response, and then scurries away into the back room before Phichit can call him out on it.

It’s not like Yuuri needs to ask Victor how flexible he is. Victor gives Yuuri enough to work off by also posting to the yoga studio’s official Snapchat and Instagram pages, giving Yuuri enough fodder to creepily scroll through on his lunch breaks and bus ride from the boardwalk to his apartment complex.

Victor is one of four bikram yoga instructors, holds classes every Tuesday and Thursday, and is available for private sessions through telephone. It’s not the same number that Yuuri has programmed in his phone and has clawed its way up his ‘most contacted’ list, Yuuri notes. Which, makes the fluttering muscle in Yuuri’s chest called a ‘heart’ get all stupidly giddy at having Victor’s personal number.

“I need to just make a date with him already,” Yuuri says to himself as he sits on his old couch one night, his late night snack being a clip of Victor folding himself in half in front of a large mirror. The tank Victor wears is stretched out; Yuuri sees the ripple of Victor’s lean muscles on display for whoever is filming, and something _twitches_ hot and funny inside of Yuuri when Victor exhales this _sigh_ as he stretches.

Vicchan is curled up against Yuuri’s hip and sneezes in his sleep. Yuuri nods in whole-hearted agreement. “Yeah. I’ll make a date tomorrow. I’ll do it tomorrow,” he says to himself with a nod.

 

 

 

 

He doesn’t schedule a date for tomorrow.

Or the day after that.

Or the week after that.

 

* * *

 

 

“Yuuri,” starts Celestino one Thursday, “are you playing games with someone’s heart?”

Yuuri’s head whips up to look at his boss so fast that his glasses nearly fly off his nose.

“ _What?_ ”

“Phichit is concerned. And he said since I am your boss, I should be concerned as well,” Celestino says with a tone of voice that makes him sound like he should care less.

Yuuri looks over his shoulder at Phichit ‘busy’ stacking up the longboard decks. “I am _not_ playing games with Victor’s heart!” Yuuri clarifies. Celestino nods his head in approval, clapping his hand on Yuuri’s shoulder.

“Good. I don’t need more women in hot pants coming here to nag about my employee’s breaking their precious Victor’s heart,” Celestino muses. Finding his job to be done, he wanders back into his office in the back. The moment his door is closed, Phichit has already materialized in front of Yuuri, hands splayed on the surface of the counter.

“When are you going to ask him out?! It’s been a _month_ and he’s super into you!” Phichit exclaims.

“I will! I will! I just...it’s...complicated,” Yuuri says pathetically, pushing his glasses further up his nose as they begin to slip down. He tries to go back to applying the grip tape to the board he's working on, but Phichit pushes the board aside in favor of leaning half of his body over the counter to further get to the problem.

“How complicated we talking here?”

Yuuri’s nostrils flare, and he bites the inside of his cheek.

“Complicated like...like he’s really hot...and flexible...and...and...”

And dammit, Victor probably _can_ suck his own dick. Or if he can’t, Yuuri will _gladly_ volunteer.

“Just, every time we meet, I end up falling on my ass and making a fool out of myself,” Yuuri mutters, pulling the board back towards him so he can continue, “Maybe - maybe I just wanna spare myself that embarrassment by just never ever meeting him in person again.”

“ _Or_ , and this is just a suggestion, you could just not have a skateboard with you,” Phichit says.

“I don’t trust myself even on the ground.”

“You’re not _that_ clumsy.”

“I know! But, I don’t know, something _weird_ just happens whenever I’m in a ten foot radius of him. I get all dumb and fall and I usually hurt him in the process, which would be _awful_ on a first date.”

Yuuri then sighs, and it feels like his lungs are constricting themselves into finely tied bows. “I’ll…handle it. Later. Hypothetically speaking, it’s good that I take my time with it instead of making myself look eager. Cause, you know, things,” he says, but he doesn’t even sound convincing to himself. And if Phichit wanted to say something then - raise an inquisitive brow or roll his eyes while a disapproving sigh came from his lips - he staves off the urge.

Instead, Phichit gives a glance at the clock over his shoulder. “I think I’m going to go on a smoothie run since we’re on downtime,” he says aloud, stretching out his arms up over his head.

Celestino’s door is suddenly open again, the manager leaning far back in his chair to look out through the crack in the opening.

“Kiwi Mango Madness for me, please!”

“Not a delivery boy, Ciao Ciao!”

 

* * *

 

 

It turns out, Yuuri doesn’t need to hypothetically text Victor hypothetically asking for a date. Because — not hypothetically but _actually_ — Victor strolls into the skate shop at the end of the week, on the day Yuuri spent his morning shower planning out his hypothetical date, and the bus ride to the pier deciding he’ll put his hypothetical plan into action in another week. Maybe. Probably. Hypothetically.

Yuuri notices Victor right away, but it isn’t like Victor is trying to blend in with the setting of skateboard decks and grunge metal crackling over the shitty speakers Celestino refuses to upgrade. He’s in a pair of grey yoga pants and an overly stretched out tank top that is prone to giving Yuuri a slip of Victor’s nipples every time he breathes in the sweaty, skate shop air. Since Victor is a jerk that won’t stop breathing, Yuuri keeps getting treated to a view of Victor’s chest, thanking and cursing every deity known and unknown to mankind.

Victor finally notices Yuuri’s oggling after he wanders away from the helmet rack. He also notices how fast Yuuri throws himself to the floor behind the counter, since he soon approaches it, peeks over with a bewildered expression and asks, “Are you okay? Did you fall again?”

Yuuri, still on the floor, shakes his head ‘no’.

Victor smiles. It isn’t fair how cute his smile is from this angle on the ground. “That’s good. So, uh, what are you doing down there then?”

“Oh. I just…dropped…a pencil.” Yuuri pushes himself back up to his feet. “But, I’ll get it later. Uh, so, can I help you with anything?”

Victor starts tracing the tip of his finger against the glass, having the _nerve_ to look shy. “I have some time before my class,” he starts, “so I was wondering if maybe we could hang out for a little bit? I haven’t seen you skateboarding around lately. Kinda started to miss you slamming into me.”

Yuuri drops his face into his hands with a groan. “I’m _so_ sorry-“

“No, no! Actually, ever since we’ve been talking, I started looking up more about skateboarding. To be honest, I always thought it was a thing for punks in baggy shorts. No offense.”

“Oh,” Yuuri says, pulling at the collar of his T-shirt. It’s hot. Has it always been hot like this? “I always thought yoga was kinda a hippie thing. That, or pretentious, overpriced stretching.”

Victor snorts. It’s a cute sound. Why is it a cute sound and why is it so _hot?_

“Us insulting each others interests isn’t how I pictured this conversation to go,” he says. His finger traces a little bit closer to where Yuuri has his left hand rested on the counter. Yuuri watches it, entranced by the movement, his hand itching to reach out and still Victor’s ministrations and maybe trace his own circles into the ridges of Victor’s knuckles with his thumb.

“Sorry,” Yuuri says instead. Victor chuckles.

“If you’re interested, I could show you a few positions. For me, it’s relaxing to do yoga and not _everyone_ that does it is a pretentious hippie, promise. And maybe, you can show me some skateboard moves.” Victor turns his attention to the boards hanging behind Yuuri and all around them. “In fact, can I try one?”

After Yuuri’s track record of ‘him’ and ‘skateboards’ and ‘Victor’, this should have sounded like the worst possible idea ever. But everything sounds really pretty coming out of Victor’s mouth, and Yuuri feels like he’s going to combust into flames if he stands in that spot behind the counter for one second longer. So he nods, walks around the counter, and heads over to the cruisers with Victor trailing close behind.

“Um, these are good for beginners, I guess,” he says, taking a pintail off the rack and showing off the bamboo finish to Victor, who politely ‘ _ooohs_ ’. “And you kinda just”— he sets the board down on the ground, climbs up onto it and rocks with the way the trucks tilt the board from left to right — “yeah, you just do this.”

He gets down and Victor braces a hand on his shoulder. His grip is firm, strong, nails slightly digging into the fabric of Yuuri’s shirt to cling _just-so_. Yuuri’s mind flies, each thought lewder than the one before it as Victor grips Yuuri’s other shoulder with the same tight grip, toeing the board with his left foot.

“Sorry, do you mind?” Victor asks Yuuri when he’s already been clutching him for ten seconds. Yuuri forgets how to word again, so he goes for the failsafe option of shaking his head. Victor smiles, then pokes his tongue out the corner of his lips — _ugh, why is ‘Actual Walking Torture for Yuuri Katsuki’ so damn_ ** _cute_** — and steps up onto the board. Immediately without thinking, Yuuri’s hands find Victor’s narrow waist to hold him steady as the board begins to roll back.

It’s not like Victor actually _needs_ Yuuri to hold him; surprisingly, Victor has good posture and balance in comparison to many new-comers that come in, try to step on a board, and immediately face plant into the ground. Victor's posture is so good that Yuuri doesn't really _need_ to hold onto Victor like this. He should let go. Yeah, that sounds like a good plan. Just gotta do it. Yuuri’s doing it. He’s going. Any second now…

“This doesn’t seem that bad,” Victor says, smirking. “And it’s a great excuse to _finally_ get your hands around me.”

Yuuri makes that loud squeaky noise that he hates, and proceeds to yank his hands off of Victor’s waist.

He also - somehow, someway that doesn’t at all manage to adhere to the laws of physics - knocks Victor off of his center, which then proceeds to make Victor shift his weight to the back of the board, and _then_ causes the board to rocket out from under his feet and go flying into the glass display as both of them crash to the floor.

This time, Victor manages to fall on top of Yuuri, stopping short of their faces smashing together in a way that would be painful rather than romantic. But, maybe it’s the way Victor looks with the ceiling lights above that makes his hair shine like a halo sits on the crown of his locks. Or maybe Yuuri bashed his head against the ground so hard he’s lost all control of rational thought.

Either way, he blurts out, “Will you go on a date with me Friday night?!”

And that’s when Celestino decides to come out of his office.

He’s got a smoothie in one hand, bills in the other, and a perplexed eyebrow raised at Victor still lying on top of Yuuri. “What are you doing?” he questions. Victor peels himself off of Yuuri, though he does it in a way that makes it seem like he was _very_ reluctant to.

“I was trying out a skateboard,” Victor explains, helping Yuuri up. Yuuri’s still a little bit wobbly, so Victor holds tight onto his hand. It only takes a few seconds for Yuuri to stop feeling like he’s still about to tumble over, but he doesn’t tell Victor to let go.

“Looks like you were trying out my employee,” Celestino says dryly. He takes a long slurp of his smoothie to further punctuate his point.

“I - we just - he fell and -“ Yuuri’s sure his wild hand gestures to make up for lack of verbal skills would be better understood if he wasn’t, you know, holding Victor’s hand in a death lock. He ends up just wildly waving his and Victor’s enclosed fists in the air while rambling an incoherent slew of words, ‘accident’ being the most repeated.

Celestino lazily blinks at him. “So does this mean you’re done playing games with his heart?” he then asks. Yuuri wants to die.

“I wasn’t under the impression he _was_ playing games with my heart,” Victor says with an awkward chuckle. Celestino nods his head, and sensing that whatever disturbance that caused him to leave the recluse of his office has been mitigated, he disappears back behind the manager door and leaves the two of them alone.

Victor starts swinging their hands together, stupidly giddy smile on his lips. “You weren’t joking about the date just now, right? Or was it asked from a concussed mind?” Suddenly, Victor’s eyes go serious. “Oh my god, you _don't_ have a concussion, do-“

“N-No, I don’t.” Yuuri starts rubbing the back of his head. It stings, but the world doesn’t look like he’s viewing it through a jell-o mound. Yuuri is completely cognizant of Victor’s eyes, his smile, and the pretty flush of pink over the bridge of his nose. “Um, I’m serious though. About the date. And…more dates…if you want.”

Victor looks like he’s orbiting Cloud Nine. “Of _course_ I want to go on a date with you. I mean, all the times you’ve ran me over, I think you at least owe me _one_ drink.”

Yuuri doesn’t know whether to feel more mortified or elated. It’s kinda both, and it’s a kinda weird feeling.

But he likes it.

 

 

 

 

Three months after Yuuri and Victor are officially a 'thing', Phichit gets a text message from Yuuri at 2 in the morning.

**> he can**

**> > ??? he can what??**

Yuuri sends, in order: 🍆👅🙏 

Phichit is scandalized.

**Author's Note:**

> yep nothing says halloween more than a fic that was written in the summertime
> 
> f;dfk sorry guys im still not really here? like idk what's with me, school's already started and im getting kinda burned out so i dont know what to do this fic is probably crud ahhhahhhahhhhhahahahah 
> 
> say hi on [twitter](https://twitter.com/obroskii?lang=en)


End file.
